


waiting for that cold long promise

by nevernevergirl



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 14:45:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevernevergirl/pseuds/nevernevergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five happy endings Baelfire never had (and one he did).</p>
            </blockquote>





	waiting for that cold long promise

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through Second Star to the Right, speculation for And Straight on Til Morning!
> 
> Title from Atlas Hands by Benjamin Francis Leftwich

  
_one_. 

Baelfire grows up in London--in a city that isn't his, a time he doesn't belong, a family he'd never let himself dream of.

The Darlings aren't his parents, but they stay and they keep him and scold him and praise him. Michael and John become his brothers. And Wendy--

Wendy doesn't become his sister, but she does become Important.

He's 17 when he leaves the Darling home; Wendy's furious. She yells at first, and then refuses to speak to him when he stops by with treats for the boys from the bakery he works in. She's got Nana trained to let out a snarling bark when he walks by, though he's found bits of cake work on Nana as well.

He's nearly 19 by time he's saved up enough to come back with a ring. Facing her wrath for just on two years is worth it, he things, when Wendy bursts into tears, yells 'you stupid  _boy_ ,' and launches herself into his arms with a breathless ' _yes.'_  


  
_two_.

"You said we'd be near a beach," Emma pouts for the fifth time in two days, draping herself over his lap. 

"We're near-ish," he shrugs, a smile teasing at the corner of his lips as he places his hands on her hips, hitching her closer and holding her steady. "Near can mean a lot of things."

"I can't see sand, so we're not near  _enough_ ," she glares, accusingly. "You  _lied_."

"Does it really count as lying if I'm just bad at reading maps?" he wrinkles his nose. "You've got that thing with lies, baby, can't lie to you," he shoots her a shit-eating grin, making her roll her eyes. 

"You wouldn't lie to me, anyway," she says quietly. It's not a question. It's not a question at  _all_ , and he smiles so hard he thinks his face might split. He leans into kiss her, deep and slow, hand spread wide against the slight bump of her stomach.

"I wouldn't," he murmured, feeling her smile against his lips. "Love you."

"Love you too."

  
_three_. 

Neal's waiting for Emma when she gets out of jail. He's leaning against their bug, because he gave her the keys and locked the doors and it'll be her choice if he gets to slide back into those seats. But he's waiting. It's the least he can do.

Her hair's longer. It's been almost 11 months, and her hair's longer. He used to have her memorized, but it's been almost 11 months.

She stops in her tracks when she sees him, and she looks terrified and sad and angry and it's been  _11 months_  and there's nothing he can say.

"Fuck you," she calls out, walking toward the bug, brave and headstrong and furious. "Fuck you, Neal. You gave me the keys. I don't want you with it."

"That should have been me," he blurts out. "I should have done that time for you."

She laughs, high and hysterical, like maybe she wants to cry. It's awful. "Yeah. Yeah, you should have, but you didn't."

"Emma," he says--his vision is swimming and he doesn't deserve to say any of this, but selfishness is deep in his bones, cowardice branded into his DNA. "Not a day goes by that I don't regret having left you."

"I don't want to hear this," she shakes her head, trying to push past him. 

"But I need to say it," he sighs. "Look. I know I don't deserve to, and I'm not asking you to do anything. I'm just. I'm sorry, Emma."

She looks at him for a long time, finally closing her eyes.

"Five minutes," she says quietly. "Tell me why the hell you left me in jail in the next five minutes and maybe I won't kick your ass."

"I..."

"Five minutes, Neal."

He takes a deep breath. 

"Did you ever read Peter Pan?"

  
_four_.

"But look at the bright side," August smirks-- and Neal thinks it's a testament to the wisdom and patience of his many near-countless years that he doesn't  _punch him in the fucking smug face,_  "You'll get to see Emma again."

His stomach flips.

"I don't think she wants to see me," he mumbles.  _No thanks to you_ , he thinks but doesn't say--he's the one who made the decision, after all. He's the one who spent a decade too scared to look back.

"Maybe," he shrugs. "I'm going. To Storybrooke. Maine. You should be able to find it," he smirks again before he's gone.

Neal shakes his head, heading down the street in enough of a daze that he doesn't see the pretty girl with the large coffee 'til the scalding liquid's spilling between them. She rambles about being late for work, but he can barely hear her over the sound of  _you should be able to find it_.

He hands her his scarf, grasping at his manners. 

"Keep it," he mumbles. "I've got to go to Maine."

  
_five_.

"Emma!" he yells, scrambling the best he can to get to her. His stomach hurts; he can't tell if it's just the gunshot, but Emma dangling over a fucking  _portal to another realm_  can't possibly be helping. He pushes himself up, reaching for her.

  
_Come on, baby, come on, just swing your legs, just get to me, baby, come on--_ he holds his breath as she squirms, but then;

She makes it. 

"I've got you," he mumbles, holding her weight the best he can. She fists her hands into his sleeves tightly, letting herself shaking for half a moment before she's going straight to his wound.

"We need to get you to a hospital," she says, frantically-- and then the world's caving beneath them.

He shifts his weight away from the portal as the floor gives way, and she copies him so quickly he's not sure she didn't do it first. They fall away from the portal and he lets himself collapse on Emma, letting out a grunt as he clutches his side.

"Oh my God," she chants, gripping her hand over his tightly. "Oh my God, oh my God."

"Emma," he mumbles, shaking his head. 

"We need to get out of here," she says, standing up and pulling him half-up. "Can you walk? At least until we get to my parents?"

"I don't know," he mumbles, dizzy with the blood loss and pain.

" _Try_ ," she snaps, dragging him the best she can. "Neal. I need you."

He snaps up, forcing himself to focus on her face.

"Okay."

( _one_.

Once, too many years before to count, a ship called the Jolly Roger sailed against the shores of Neverland and plucked him out of the sea, saving him from death. He'd thought he was the luckiest boy in the world. He wasn't it. It was just fate.

He watches the Jolly Roger dock against the craggy shores, watches a small boy with his hair and familiar, wide eyes scramble against the railing, and he thinks: this isn't luck. It's just fate.

"Dad?" Henry says, all disbelief and wonder.and  _happiness_. Neal falls to his knees with the weight of his smile. "Dad! Mom,  _look_."

Neal might throw up. Emma runs behind her son-- their son, her face crumpled with the resistant edges of hope.

"Henry, what are you-- _Neal._ Neal!"

He laughs or cries or something in between. "I'm here. I'm right here.")


End file.
